


Slip Through My Fingers

by LittleTwoLegs



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Family Planning, OT3, Other, Phlintasha - Freeform, mentions of The Red Room treatment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11076093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTwoLegs/pseuds/LittleTwoLegs
Summary: Phil Coulson was pronounced dead at the scene. Fury tells the Avengers and Natasha tells something more. Phlintasha (Phil Coulson/Natasha Romanov/Clint Barton)





	1. We Are Grains of Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to fiddle around with the order of things during The Avengers; Thor and Banner were returned to the hellicarrier shortly after they departed. Clint was still “recalibrated” by Natasha and is in a cell bunk. Fury called a meeting in the area he told Cap and Tony about Coulson’s death.  
> This was written entirely on my phone so any mistakes you see pleas let me know so I can fix them. All mistakes are entirely mine.

The room was silent but for the muffled voices from the halls. All but Clint were in the room, Banner and Thor having been retrieved as quickly as they could be, in various states of disbelief or self-reflection. Natasha leaned against a wall staring at the bloodied cards at the center of the table. Her stomach was twisting and her limbs felt heavy but she knew now was not the time to let anything show. She pushed back the years of trust and openness that Coulson had encouraged and managed to pull off an unaffected front. She was grateful Clint wasn’t in the room and hadn’t heard the news. He would shut down, she knew. Probably rip out his hearing aids and refuse to believe what was happening.

She internally sighed, disappointed in herself. She had become happy with her life, complacent that things had been stable and, despite injuries and FUBAR missions, _good_. She should’ve known better. She _did_ know better but had ignored all her instincts. Her heart felt like it was being crushed and her eyes stung but they still caught the motion Steve made as he reached for the cards.

“Did…” the soldier hesitated. “Did he have a wife? Kids?” The question was like a kick to the stomach and Natasha took a deep breath. She found herself speaking before she could help herself, some part of her (the part she was mad at) desperate for people to know that Phil Coulson was loved and was mourned as more than a colleague.

“No wife.” She said. It was the truth. “No kids.” Also the truth. “He was hesitant about trying for a baby. He-“ Natasha paused to gather the courage to say whole of the truth. “With my history… he didn’t want me to blame myself if we couldn’t conceive.” The statement brought all eyes to her but she kept her gaze locked on the red smears that covered her lover’s vintage cards.

Thor, upon hearing her words went even paler than he had been as he stared at Coulson's prized posession. His eyes held guilt and it gave Natasha a sick satisfaction to watch him tear himself up over the tragedy. Another part of her wanted to assure him that she didn't blame him, entirely, but her anger prevented her from easing his self recriminations.

"I hadn’t realized you and Agent Coulson were that close.” Steve said, clearly shocked. He put the cards back down on the table and she could tell the tacky blood left on his fingers was definitely noticed. He looked her in the eye and Natasha had to respect him for it. “I’m sorry for your loss, Natasha.” It sounded genuine. She appreciated it but she wanted to strike the man all the same. He was sorry for her loss, sure, but he didn’t know the half of it. She had to clear up the misunderstanding people seemed to have.

“Clint and Phil wanted each other to be the father.” She took the widening of eyes and obvious shocked curiosity all but Fury were blatantly showing on their faces as a heartbreaking victory. Phil would’ve been proud. He loved doing that to people, especially people whom he knows –knew- didn’t think he had much of a life outside his job.

The words were true though. Natasha had brought up the idea of children to Clint first, before Coulson was their third, and they had sought out fertility treatments off book. The results were unfavorable but the doctors said that while it was slim and unlikely, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility with a treatment plan. Coulson was hesitant at first but after looking at everything her and Clint had researched and the treatments she had gone to he realized she was quite serious about it.

Her heart felt that crushing weight again as she thought to the nights they all lay in bed, each with a hand over her stomach. Coulson would kiss her, right above her navel and say he just wanted a perfect blend of his two favorite people. Clint, sprawled across the lower half of the bed, would usually leave a hickey on one or both of his lovers while muttering about how cute Phil’s baby would look in a suit. Natasha thought they were both idiots but she secretly wanted one baby from each of them.

Just the thought of having a piece of them combined with a piece of herself growing inside her used to make a smile appear on her face and set her heart racing. Now it brought waves of pain, anger and resignation because only half of that could ever come true.

She turned her attention back to the room that seemed to be focused on her. She couldn’t have people not know that Phil had so much love in his heart that he was able to be the glue between two assassins that avoided emotions with extreme prejudice. He brought the best out in both her and Clint and made them want to do better and be better. He was theirs and he loved them and they loved him and he was _gone_.

“No one tells Clint. That is my duty.” Her voice was soft but everyone heard the threat and steel in her voice. She saw almost everyone agree to her order but Tony seemed ready to say something that would probably irritate her. She glared at him until Banner placed a hand on his wrist. Stark scoffed and turned his attention back to the maps on the holotable.

“Coulson did his duty,” Fury said after a moment. He straightened his posture and trailed his gaze across the present warriors. “You need to decide if you can accept this as yours.” He collected the cards and walked out of the room, face grim. Natasha knew that Fury and Coulson had a past, one forged through blood, risks, and agony but the look on his face was more haggard than she would’ve expected. She would go to him later, probably with Clint. They could give Phil, the man, a proper goodbye.

Natasha wanted to shrug off the comforting hand Steve placed on her shoulder but she remained calm. She would admit that having her fallen lover’s hero here gave a bittersweet tinge to the gesture. She turned to face the Captain. He did truly look sad, even if he hadn’t known Phil except as a fanboy that made a fool of himself. She lifted a perfectly sculpted brow.

“I just wanted to say…” he trailed off, realizing the futility of his words. He pursed his lips in thought and began again. “If you and Barton would rather attend to your, uh,” and here he did blush. Natasha wanted to scoff. “If you and Barton want to see Agent Coulson we can wait a while. We have time enough for that, I would think. We still need to regroup and figure out how to do better.”

Natasha’s reply was cold and clipped, impervious the gesture that Steve had offered. “No. He will become angry and while anger can be harnessed to fuel abilities and stamina I think this news will hinder it instead.” The Captain nodded but did not move away. The redhead sighed. “Yes, Rogers?”

“I just… Doesn't that go against SHIELD fraternization regulations?" He questioned, face tinged pink. Phil would’ve been equally embarrassed about discussing his love life to his hero but Natasha knew he’d also answer with pride (and in awe, though truly it was her and Clint that were awed. Phil was a very put together man and he took both of them with all their sharp edges and secrets into his heart). He always did in regards to her and Clint.

Natasha did not answer and Steve did some back peddling. "Agent Coulson was more than important to you, I understand that now and I apologize for my behavior to him. I just thought…” he lost his words again.

Natasha gave a small quirk of her lips. “You saw a fanboy.” A true smile that was shadowed by grief touched her lips. “He was a complete fanboy. And very embarrassed that he got tongue tied when he first spoke with you.” She replied. It hurt so damn much to talk of him, to think of him but at the same time, sharing this side of Coulson, the man who Phil was, helped her to cope.

“He really did admire you and what you stood for.” Her eyes crinkled with delight at a memory. “He promised that any kid the three of us had would learn their morals out of his comic collection and your 40’s SHIELD records.”

Steve laughed weakly. “It’s embarrassing to think I’m idolized like that.” He muttered, looking down at his shoes. There was a comfortable silence that Natasha used to study the man before her. She knew he was honest, sometimes to a fault, a natural protector, and he stuck to his guns when he felt he was right. He was a suitable role model for any child. Natasha cherished the few stories Phil had told her and Clint of he and his childhood playmates pretending to be Captain America and the Howling Commandos. If she and Clint did have a child she would make sure Phil’s promise was kept.

“He sounds like he would’ve been a good father…” he tilted his head. “Barton too.” He looked her in the eye with that charming smile that dazzled Phil’s fanboy heart. “You’ll be a wonderful mother if you and Clint move forward.”

Natasha gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you. I know he would’ve made a great Papa.” Steve tilted his head at the title she used. “Phil was quite determined that whomever the biological father wound up being he would be ‘Papa’ and Clint would be ‘Daddy’.” The explanation made Steve smile. He regretted he’d written the man off; there was obviously much more about him that he’d missed. He felt a fool, and a disappointment, for judging him so quickly and decisively.

Steve looked down at her, eyes serious and face solemn. “If you need to talk, Natasha, I can be a good listener.” He offered.

The spy gave a nod and watched him leave. She needed to see Clint, to know that he was okay and alive and himself. She slipped from the empty conference room with one last glance at the red smears on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a three part story. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Phlintasha/Black Bow Tie (whoever came up with that, thank you. It is too cute) is one of my new OT3s as well as Phil/Nat. Love it!  
> Please let me know what you think, I would be very pleased to hear your responses!


	2. And We Keep Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle of New York Natasha brings Clint to Phil's office to break the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for slight, and I mean very slight, elements of blood play.
> 
> I was struggling with Clint's character, I will admit. I think I should put an OOC warning on this.
> 
> This was, again, done entirely on a cell phone. All mistakes are mine, please feel free to bring them to my notice.

The air in the Shawarma restaurant was thick with silence. The smell of burned metal and debris lingered despite the proprietor's early attempts at cleaning up the area for the city's heroes. The Avengers, for they had embraced the name and the purpose, all sat around a table, eating the fare without conversation or hunger. Not a one could honestly have said if they enjoyed the food or not as they were all too wrapped up in their thoughts to notice or care.

Thor was the first to stir. He sat up and grabbed his dishes, moving them to the industrial sink beyond a pile of ruble that once was a wall. He waved off the offered help from the staff and efficiently washed his dishes. After placing his items on a clean counter he turned back to his companions. He gave a respectful nod and small bow. "I fear, my shield brothers," he nodded to Natasha, "and sister, I must prepare to take the prisoner to Asgard to face Aesir justice." The air turned uncomfortable and Thor looked at the two SHIELD agents. "I give you my word he will pay dearly for his crimes against you and the SHIELD of Midgard."

It was hard but Natasha gave a quick nod, giving the god the small acknowledgment he craved. Clint, sharp as ever, was looking at everyone's faces, taking in the anger and also the sorrow. He was used to terrible things happening, he had seen much of it in his personal life and later as a SHIELD asset, but this seemed more than that.

Ice trickled up his spine. He knew it had to be because of him. Who in their right mind would trust the guy who helped take out their fortified base? Not someone with as much tactical knowledge as anyone in the team that was for sure. He swallowed. No matter, Clint would accept whatever punishment SHIELD dished out.

He released a breath and stood as well, pulling his vest until it rested more comfortably on his chest. "Sounds good to me, Sparks. Let's get this show in the road. I got an appointment with a head shrinker ASAP anyway," he felt their eyes on him as he reached for his bow and quiver. It stung, their mistrust, but he promised himself to earn every ounce back. He could do it too, go to every doc appointment (as if Phil would let him miss one) and play back-end for as long as it took. He carefully dissembled the bow and placed the quiver in its resting position across his back.

He looked over at Natasha who had gracefully stood from her chair as well. She did not meet his gaze and he felt bile rise within him. He loved her, never mind their belief that love was for children, and the fact that she couldn't even look at him hurt more than was probably safe.

Phil would know what to do, how to set things to rights, he always did. He could navigate all three of their emotional snags just as well as their missions, maybe even more so. "I have more invested here, with you, with Natasha, than I do anything else." Phil had said many times to both of his partners. Clint nodded to himself, making a mental note to see Coulson Agent to Agent after medical and psych evaluations.

"Well, just give me a call when we can get the band back together, 'kay, Katniss?" Tony said, standing as well. Steve gathered everyone's plates and took them to the sink to start washing, waving off help just as Thor had.

"Yes, friend Clint. I shall ask Heimdall to keep watch for calls for aid." Thor's words were the last of conversation as Natasha took the lead. She barely gave him time to nod his head, confused at the sudden attention, before she was dragging him out of the restaurant.

He heard the whir of a quinjet engine before the cloaking was fully disengaged and he followed Natasha inside. The pilots made a gesture, offering their positions but Natasha declined for them both. Clint winced minutely; Tasha loved control and yet she was passing it up. Her wounds, he knew, were not so severe as to distract her from something like piloting the short distance to the hellicarrier. She must truly be concerned about him slipping back.

He hadn't felt the urge to run this strong in years. He knew he had to stay, for Nat, for Phil, and even for the rest of the Avengers, but his stomach was turning sour at the avoidance his Spider. He shook his head, she was not his Spider right now, she was his partner, his fellow agent. He honestly had no idea how Phil and Natasha did it so well all the damn time.

They sat in silence for the short journey, Natasha's grasp on his hand bruising and constant. She avoided his gaze and from her profile he could see her jaw clenched. She seemed to be distracted, by what Clint could not say. He wanted to ask but the closed off way she held herself clearly told him not to. He squeezed her hand back, trying to offer what comfort she could take from him.

When they got onto the hellicarier Clint expected to be taken immediately to a debriefing. SHIELD was, if anything, efficient with things like that. He was surprised when he was ushered off with Natasha to the private office wing. It was very unusual and rang every warning bell he possessed. "Hey, Tasha," he finally broke the silence. She grunted. He gripped her hand tighter, conveying just with a touch his uncertainty and trust in her. She ran the pad of her thumb over his hand but did not offer an explanation until they were inside Coulson's office.

While it was rare for anyone save the Director and Deputy Director to have offices on an MCU Coulson almost always got one. It wasn't preferential treatment; he just seemed to wind up with a lot more paperwork than most and had a tendency to give very good lectures on strategy and history. He would frequently find himself advising teams or units about upcoming missions and eventually becoming hamdler for that group. Being handler meant paperwork and so with that happening on many occasion, on both long and short missions, it was always accounted for that Coulson have a private office at the nearest station.

The office was nearly bare but there were a few signs of occupancy. There was a Captain America mug that held pens and pencils next to a bolted down computer screen and a small purple cushion on the chair across from the desk. The calendar beneath the keyboard was doodled on with stick images of birds and spiders doing silly things next to appointments written in a precise hand. There was a "15 Years" paperweight sitting atop a small stack of sticky notes in the shape of their organization's emblem. There was one photo on the desk still stocked with the sample photograph.

Clint flopped down into the guest chair, situating his pillow with the ease of repetition to help himself get comfortable. He gave a pleased sigh. "So, Tasha, how long we gotta wait for Coulson?" he asked, already dreading the write up this report was going to require. He expected a whack to the head or an amused huff but instead he heard what he'd only heard twice before. He shot up, instantly on alert. A quick scan gave no sign of danger and so he focused on his partner.

Natasha leaned against the door, hand over her mouth. Her eyes were red rimmed, tears trying to form and fall and Clint could see her biting her lip, trying to make whatever pain she was feeling physical because that could certainly be ignored. He watched her squeeze her eyes shut and dread began clawing at his insides. His eyes sought out the Captain America cup. "Natasha...," he began, throat closing. He was not stupid. He saw the writing on the wall. The way the others had been looking at them, the chaos on the hellicarrier, and even the standoff behavior that Natasha retreated to.

"Phil fell before the portal opened." Natasha said, her whisper becoming a shout in the silence. Clint shook his head. "He tried to stop Loki. He was taken down." The words washed over Clint's ears until he felt they were bleeding. He shook his head again, reaching up to take out his flesh colored hearing aids. He turned his eyes to Natasha, tears already falling. His hands came up to match his words.

"No, Tasha, no. He can't," his voice was broken and his hands shook but Natasha was able to sign back an affirmative. "He can't be," Clint begged. The dread was threatening to eat his heart and devour his mind but he fought against it. He wanted to curl into a ball, he wanted to be home in their too small bed they refused to upgrade. He wanted Phil to be hogging the pillows and Natasha behind him, her icy feet on the back of his calves. He wanted to wake to a running shower to find his lovers tangled together under the spray or to tease Phil as he stood brushing his teeth in nothing but his Captain America boxers. He wanted Phil yelling at him about his bad habits or dancing with him and Natasha in the kitchen to 40's and 50's jazz and swing.

Oh God. Clint sat down, his hand barely catching him as he landed harshly on his rear. He wanted to shout, to scream, but still he couldn't. He felt his body subconsciously curl into itself, trying to make himself a smaller target because _he killed Phil._ If he hadn't given Loki everything he needed, everything the god had asked for in regards to security and protocols Loki would've never made it to the hellicarrier. Phil wouldn't have confronted him and then Phil wouldn't have died. He couldn't blame Natasha for striking out at him if she wished. He'd accept every lashing she gave him and beg her for more. Because of him they lost their third. Because of him her dreams a big family, an actual family formed by her and two people she _trusted_ , were broken. He broke that trust. In one fell swoop he killed someone they both loved and destroyed whatever future the may have had together.

He flinched when he felt a hand on his head. It was a gentle touch but that didn't mean anything, it could always turn rough and punishing. It was something he was constantly fighting against expecting, back when Phil would grab his wrist to keep him from running away from the emotional talks he told Clint they _needed_ to have. Or when Natasha would hold his waist tightly, pulling him closer to her, for warmth, for sex, for grounding. It took years for the shivers to be come pleasurable first. Mostly due to thorough and constant reinforcement by the two people who cared for him most.

And how did he repay that, again for those listening? By helping Loki try to kill everything and everyone he vowed to protect. Clint's skin began crawling, trying to get away from the tainted human it contained. He shook his head, ignoring what little he could hear of Natasha's voice. He didn't want to hear either the lies of absolution she offered or the confirmation of his guilt, not from her, from the voice that whispered praise and care in his ear.

Pain sparked across his face. His eyes snapped open, staring straight ahead, the pain in his cheek echoed and magnified in his heart. He heard Natasha's curse, clipped short to say his name instead. "Hold still," she commanded.

He didn't protest as his vest was cut from his body with a knife. He felt the cool metal slide up his side, never piercing the skin but the threat was there. Clint still refused to look at her and in that refusal he missed her stepping behind him. He jumped in surprise as Natasha lay her body over his. She laid a trail of kisses over his back, her hands running up and down his sculpted arms. She flicked her tongue out to taste his bruises and bumps and hooked her arms under his, reaching up to place her palms on his chest.

Slowly her kisses tapered off until he felt only her fingers tracing his skin, over and over the same sequence. He clenched his eyes shut, tears threatening to fall again.

Natasha began again, finger almost centered in his chest. She dragged it to the right. From the center of that line she dragged down, twice as long as the previous line. Another line at the end, this one parallel to the first line.

I

She started at the same point. Her finger slid straight down and then jerked to the right for half as long again.

L

An almost perfect circle.

O

An inverted triangle with no closing.

V

A long line with three parallel lines drawn to the right again half as long as the original.

E

A small diagonal line perpendicular to another diagonal line, this one at an opposing angle.

Y

Another circle.

O

A quick dip down and back up going to the right again.

U

 

He didn't deserve it, he knew he didn't. But with every repeated letter, every breath it took to feel Natasha's body draped over him he wanted to believe her words more. When his breath evened out he felt her hand change position.

Her thumb, forefinger and pinky all extended from her palm, the other two fingers curled in.

Even backwards against his chest he was able to make it out. It was the only phrase in ASL that Natasha knew when they met, from an American television show she'd watched.

"I love you."

He broke.

Clint twisted in her arms, bringing his own up to crush her body to him. He didn't cry, he really just couldn't, but he did bury his face into her neck, her her hair tickling him. He felt the rumble in her chest as she spoke, not as deep as Phil's, but more precise as was her way. He felt the drain of his emotions in his body, his arms trembling, his back aching and he knew Natasha must've felt even worse.

With relectance he pulled away to be face to face with her. Her eyes were wet but her cheeks were dry. She was so strong, holding herself and him together.

Clint leaned forward and kissed her, just a chaste meeting of lips but more than enough to beg forgiveness from her. The pressure behind her kiss and the hands on his neck, hands that could easily snap it but petted and caressed instead, were the signs her clear acceptance.

They rested their forheads together, Natasha's eyes tracing his face, looking for anymore signs of uneasiness. There were plenty to choose from but none she feared would immediately set him in a spiral again.

As if to prove her analysis Clint spoke. His hands twitched with the urge to sign but he didnt want to move away from her. He hoped his voice wasn't too loud as he spoke. "Nat... I don't know how to handle this. I can't promise I'll be okay." His voice cracked with emotion but Natasha nodded, scratching her fingers at his nape.

"I can only say I'll try. I don't think this guilt will ever leave. But I can learn to live with it. I can learn to accept it and do better." He continued, eyes on her chin, on her lips. He grunted when Natsha's hands fisted in his hair.

"Honesty is a rule Phil taught us, Clint, so let me be perfectly frank with you," she hissed. "You are not at fault for Phil's death." She waited until she knew he had time to read and process what she had said before twisting her wrist, forcing his gaze to meet hers.

She stared into his eyes, trying to will her feelings onto his, to somehow over write his feelings of guilt with her knowledge of his innocence. He cupped her cheek. Their kiss this time was angry, bitter, more teeth than tongue, more feral than homecoming. 

Natasha pulled away, bleeding from a bite to her upper lip. Her teeth were stained in a macabre snarl until she licked it away. Blood welled up and pooled at the center of Clint's bottom lip before spilling over down his stubbled chin. Natasha kissed him, gently this time, staining her lips with his blood.

"I need you to work with me, Clint." She said. "I need you to try. We won't get over this." She shook her head at the grief and frustration that filled his eyes "That's just a fact. But you have to want with me to _heal_ from it. Do you understand?"

Clint nodded, hanging his head until he met Natasha's shoulder. "I can try. That's all I can answer right now."

Natasha embraced him once again. "That's all I can ask."

  
 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest most of the comic book characteristics of Clint are newish to me. I remember having them read to me and reading them when I was little but I stopped reading comics for a very long while and am getting back into it. The MCU doesn't really give us a lot of detail on Clint either so I can't exactly draw much from it. I do love Jeremy Renner though.  
> Please let me know your thoughts!


End file.
